


Scopophilia

by thewightknight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Let sleeping angels lie, M/M, Poor Crowley, Waking Up, angel sleepwear, aziraphale is a tease and he doesn't know it, peek a boo - Freeform, tempting a demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:42:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/pseuds/thewightknight
Summary: Scopophilia [skoh-puh-fil-ee-uh]noun Psychiatry•	The obtaining of sexual pleasure by looking at nude bodies, erotic photographs, etc.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 197





	Scopophilia

**Author's Note:**

> [This post ](https://thewightknight.tumblr.com/post/190800687428)crossed my dash on Tumblr, and this fic is the inevitable result. (In case the purity police come for that post, the image can also be viewed [here](https://66.media.tumblr.com/2cb52c4d613b63b7f224878246257b72/a6a822538e8d973e-50/s500x750/dffece10f97e579f1bef03d78eaa538fa383df8c.jpg). It is _mostly_ safe for work.)

It wasn’t unusual for A.Z. Fell and Co to not open for several days in a row. It was unusual, however, for the shop to remain closed for over a week, especially when Crowley didn’t see so much of a hint of a white feather for that entire week.

Crowley wasn’t worried, really. Well, maybe he was just a teeny, tiny bit concerned. The powers above and below had left them alone ever since the swap, but it had been several months now, and it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that one side or the other might have decided to test the waters.

A phone call yielded no results. There was no point in emailing, as Aziraphale remembered to check his only two or three times a year. Likewise, a text was pointless, as his angel thought mobiles were rather silly.

After a period of not-dithering, which involved much pacing and hissing under his breath, Crowley decided he needed to take action. It was probably nothing, but if it was something and if he didn’t investigate, well, he’d…. He didn’t know what he’d do, actually.

So it was that Crowley found himself circling the store to the little door at the back. The door technically didn’t exist, but he knew it was there. Aziraphale had miracled it into existence several decades ago, so he could slip away if he found himself with a craving for something sweet but couldn’t leave by the front door because of some pesky would-be customer peering in through the glass.

When Crowley had asked why Aziraphale didn’t just miracle himself out instead of using such a mundane thing as a door, Aziraphale had muttered something about overuse of his powers and not wanting to draw any attention to, well, things. And since Crowley was one of those things, he let the matter drop.

To anyone else, the stretch of wall he approached would seem to be an unbroken façade of brick, discolored with age. But for Crowley, there was a wooden door, properly set in a frame, with a verdigrised doorknob and knocker. The knocker at first had been a plain circle, but over time it had begun to resemble a snake, with the end of its tail grasped in its mouth. The change had begun at around the time when Crowley had discovered the door would open for him as well as Aziraphale.

As usual, when he decided to pay Aziraphale a visit, Crowley knocked before entering. This time, instead of a cheery “Come in!”, silence followed his knock. He tried again, then shrugged and tried the knob, which opened for him without hesitation. Taking a step over the sill, he slid his sunglasses down his nose as his pupils flared to adjust for the dim light inside.

“Angel?” he called out. Silence greeted him. Frowning and trying to quash worry that had begun to plague him, he entered the shop, letting the door close behind him. “Aziraphale?” he called again, but again there was no response.

A tour around the shop revealed no angel. Worry increasing, Crowley mounted the stairs to the first floor, where Aziraphale’s mostly unused living quarters were located.

“Aziraphale?” This time he heard something—what sounded suspiciously like a grumble. “Are you here?” he asked.

“Crow…Crowley?” That was Aziraphale’s voice, but it sounded muffled, and his name had been broken up by what sounded suspiciously like a…yawn? But Aziraphale didn’t sleep. He said it was time better spent in reading.

His voice had come from one of the side rooms, and when Crowley opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of Aziraphale’s head emerging out from underneath a down comforter. His hair stuck up at all angles and he was rubbing his eyes and yes, there was another yawn.

“Oh!” Crowley said. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping. I can go.”

“No,” and Aziraphale yawned again and dammit, if that wasn’t the cutest thing the angel had ever done, and had Crowley thought there was no earthly way he could ever get cuter. “No, s’all right. I didn’t mean to go this long.”

“Have you been sleeping for eight days?” Crowley asked, flabbergasted.

Aziraphale frowned, his nose scrunching up. “Ten? I think?” He sat up and stretched, comforter falling away to reveal that he’d gone to bed in a white nightdress. It was unbuttoned at the throat and Crowley had to look away at the sight of the dimple between Aziraphale’s collarbones. “Didn’t mean to go so long.” He yawned again, arms stretched above his heads.

The sleeves were also unbuttoned, and as a result it treated Crowley to a flash of wrist that damaged Crowley’s composure even more than the unbuttoned shirt had done.

“I should get up,” Aziraphale said, completely oblivious to Crowley’s reactions.

“Don’t bother on my…” _account_ , Crowley meant to finish, but his throat closed up as first one foot, and then a second, emerged from under the covers and landed on the floor.

Aziraphale had pink, chubby toes, he couldn’t help but notice as they wiggled and dug into the carpet, and they were attached to shapely ankles. Above the ankles were a pair of delightfully fuzzy calves and….

His capacity for description fizzled out as Aziraphale threw back the covers completely, revealing, to Crowley’s astonishment (and a multitude of other feelings that he found himself completely unable to process) that Aziraphale had passed his slumber not in a white nightdress, but in one of his white button-up shirts. His eyes followed the line of Aziraphale’s rounded thighs up from his knee, and then he had to bite back a gasp when Aziraphale stretched again and revealed that he had worn absolutely _nothing_ to bed except for the white button-up.

The sight had an unfortunate effect on parts of his anatomy that demons, who were originally angels, were not supposed to have. On the whole, having that particular part had proved to be enjoyable over the millennia, but at this moment, having it was proving more of an embarrassment, as it did so have a life of its own.

Realizing he’d been staring, mouth gaping open, Crowley started to say something, but nothing emerged from his mouth besides a hissing exhalation. He stopped, took a deep breath to try to force some words out up from his lungs and past his tongue, and instead choked on the saliva that had pooled in his mouth at the sight of all that bare flesh. The watering in his eyes that resulted from his coughing fit haloed Aziraphale in the light that seeped in around the drapes as he bounced out of bed, reaching out to Crowley in concern.

“Oh, dear. Are you all right?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley had to resist taking a step back from him and his near nakedness.

It hadn’t mattered in the Garden, so it shouldn’t matter now, he told himself.

When had he ever listened to himself?

Waving off Aziraphale’s concern, he cleared his throat. “Just a tickle. I think a bit of dust got in.”

The bedroom did have an unused look to it, although it began to freshen up as Aziraphale continued to his journey into full waking. He blinked a few times as he looked around, and gave a small sniff, saying: “I really should clean up here more often. But I use it so rarely.” And then, as unconcerned with his near-nudity as Adam and Eve were before the apple, he crossed the room to the small vanity against the wall and leaned over, hands resting on the edge as he peered into the mirror.

“No, that won’t do at all,” Aziraphale said, using his shirt sleeve to wipe the surface clean. This caused his shirt to rise a few inches. Before this, Crowley had been hanging on to his composure by a thread, as he could only see a suggestion of the curve of Aziraphale’s buttock, where it met the thigh, but this bared another mouth-watering expanse of skin that he couldn’t think about if he wanted to retain the remaining shreds of his sanity.

“Um, yeah, here we go,” Crowley said and snapped his fingers. The force of that snap caused every mote of dust in a three-block radius to scamper off to Antarctica, whimpering in horror (and luckily the sound was outside of the range of hearing, which was a good thing. Human existence is the better for never having heard a dust mote whimper.).

“Oh, thank, you, dear. That was lovely of you.” And Aziraphale turned around, leaned against the vanity, and beamed at him. The scooped hem of his shirt pooled between his legs, and Crowley cleared his throat, pushing his sunglasses up his nose so his eyes were fully hidden behind them. He couldn’t do anything about the flush that colored his cheeks, but that could be blamed on his coughing fit if Aziraphale asked.

He needn’t have worried. Aziraphale seemed oblivious to his flustered state. Crowley chalked it up to the lingering effects of his long sleep. If he didn’t make an escape soon, though, he wouldn’t be able to explain it away. (Why did he have to go and invent skinny jeans?) (He actually hadn’t. It was one of the many, many things humans had come up with on their own that he’d appropriated.)

“Care for a spot of brunch today?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant.

“That would be lovely! Just give me a minute to put myself together.”

“Excellent!” That would give Crowley time to put himself together too. “Certainly. Of course. I’ll just go read for a bit while you get ready.”

And with that Crowley made a hurried but casual seeming retreat. (At least he hoped that it didn’t appear that he was fleeing the scene. He’d only sauntered a bit quicker than usual, after all. (He hoped.))

“Right. Brunch. Food,” he said once he’d reached the relative safety of the ground floor. “Something nice sweet and distracting.” He paused. “Maybe not sweet.”

As Aziraphale emerged from upstairs, thankfully looking like his regular, fully-clad self, Crowley muttered to himself, “Yep. Had enough sweet for the day already.”

“What was that, my dear?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, nothing. So, what can I tempt you with today?”

“Oh, you,” Aziraphale said, grinning and tipping his head to one side. “I believe it’s my turn to tempt, isn’t it?”

 _It certainly is_ , Crowley thought as he followed Aziraphale out onto the street. _It certainly is._

**Author's Note:**

> I was imagining the door knocker to look [something like this](https://live.staticflickr.com/1136/3269756689_403a5ee77d_b.jpg).
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you want to say hi, [check out my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewightknight/profile) for where I’m currently hanging out on this here internet thing. If you liked this, please share! Kudos are love and comments are always appreciated.


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